


Give Way

by keelywolfe



Category: British Actor RPF, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Angst, BoFA spoilers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow is Martin's last day on set. Tomorrow it will be done, finished, and he'll finally set Bilbo aside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Way

* * *

Being back is not like Martin expected. It's not at all like he expected because Martin has already done the goodbyes, done them with these very people not so terribly long ago. He's been here and he's been back, and then here again. They are all red-eyed with exhaustion and drowsing between takes and it is almost, almost done. Again. 

Tomorrow is Martin's last day and he'll be on a long flight not long after that, drooling on his travel pillow with dark sunglasses covering his weary eyes. Tomorrow it will be done, finished, and he'll finally set Bilbo aside. Hang up the memory in the back of his closet and it's time to move on.

Tonight, he's simply exhausted from an unrelenting day, lost in a fog of half-remembered lines and scenes with emotions that weren't as much acting as they should be clogging his throat with salt and tears. He's leaning against his trailer when Richard walks past on the way to his own trailer. The both of them are freshly washed, not a lingering bit of costume or make-up left but Martin can still feel it laying heavy upon him. He blinks slowly at Richard when he pauses in front of him; as though the problem is with his eyes and if he just closes them for a moment, when he looks back Richard will be Thorin again, battered and bruised and bloody.

It doesn't work the first time Martin closes his eyes, nor the second, and Richard is watching him with...some fucking expression, Martin can't begin to guess. Too bloody tired, is all, and he's not even up to considering opening the door of his trailer when he realizes Richard is doing it for him, guiding him inside with firm hands. Following him into the darkness and closing the door behind.

He's been acting with Richard most of the day; acting, yes, but also on his knees, watching Richard lying before him and the blood had been false, glaring red, and still everywhere, spilling not-quite-gruesomely and he wondered at the time how much would be cut in post-production. The blood is gone, gone, gone, Richard's much shorter hair is still damp from a shower, and yet, Martin can still see it, has to blink it away again and again, erase it from his thoughts. 

"Martin-" Richard begins, softly, and they are in his trailer, standing in the darkness, and Richard still has his hands on Martin's shoulders. Strong hands, the knuckles raw from scrubbing, from being encased in rubberized arms for most of the day. He's leaning in, close enough that Martin can taste his breath, soft, slow exhales. 

He's caught unaware by Martin's lunge, stumbling back in the limited space, pinned against the back wall. But his eyes close, his lips part, allowing Martin's clumsy urgency, giving over to the desperate clutch of his hands willingly as Martin presses their mouths together. 

It is not, cannot be gentle. There is too much hanging between them today, too much memory and the death Martin saw today was fake, false as the hairy toes he wears daily, yet, he still saw it. Still felt the thick heaviness of grief settling in his chest. He ravages Richard's mouth in revenge, bites his lower lip as punishment, for hurting him, for dying on him. 

Richard has two hands on his shoulders, steadying him, offering to settle the world around them. He parts his legs willingly to the thrust of Martin's knee, chokes off a sound into Martin's mouth as he pushes up ruthlessly, nudging at his groin with something close to a threat. Still, Richard does not flinch, does not draw away. He drinks in the kisses Martin forces on him, an incongruent gentleness in response to Martin's demands. Tests his tongue against Martin's and only sighs when it earns him a sharp bite. 

His jeans open easily beneath Martin's fumbling; he lowers the zipper without looking, curling his hand around the length of Richard's cock through the thin cotton of his shorts. Rubs his thumb beneath the ridged head until Richard swears in his mouth, the tremor in his voice likely as much exhaustion as desire. He doesn't protest when Martin steps back, says nothing when Martin falls to his knees and yanks his jeans down to his hips, swallowing down Richard's cock without a second's hesitation. 

He tastes soap and skin, the heavy salt fluid beading at the tip. Richard's swearing takes on a choked sound, his head banging against the wall as Martin sucks, cheeks hollowing as he takes Richard in deep, swallowing thickly around the bump at the back of his throat. 

Fingers curl loosely against his head, clutching as he swirls his tongue against the tip, prying lightly at the slit before swallowing him down again. He can feel Richard's thighs trembling beneath his hands, jerky little twitches and Martin sucks harder, wanting the taste of it, wanting Richard's nails digging into his scalp, the little twinges of pain another step into the doorway of reality. 

He feels the strain of Richard's cock against his tongue before he groans and the hot pulse across his tongue is matched by a hoarse shout. The grip on his head is tight, holding him in as Richard comes, quivering and jangling loose beneath Martin's hands and tongue. 

It only takes a moment for that grip to loosen, for hands to go tender, stroking idly over his short hair and Martin lets Richard slip free, licks his lips. His mouth feels sloppy and sore, his lips stung numb. He buries his face into the warm, bare skin of Richard's hip and breathes in the clean scent of him, overlaid with the sharp sting of semen, the taste fresh on his tongue. 

He can feel Richard breathing, the shattered cadence slowing, easing, and he only pets Martin's hair, gently, his fingers scratching lightly at Martin's scalp. He lets Martin drift and breathe, taking in the warm, perfect smell of alive. 

-finis-


End file.
